Disheveled Guardian
by BILLYKAPLAN666
Summary: Daryl/Glenn. .:. "For a moment I almost see some type of insecurity clouding his eyes, his body motionless as he gropes his own thighs. Maybe I'm uncovering him in more ways than one." .:. Explicit sexual content.
1. Beautiful Whittler

Even with all the will power I have, I still can't stop looking at him. He just stares back at me with those blue eyes of his. The white surrounding his hues seems to be the cleanest thing about him. But that's okay.

"What?" he suddenly asks in an annoyed tone.

"Nothing," I breathe inaudibly, watching his lips as they part in unison with his words.

"The fuck you lookin' at me for?"

_Because I love your face _is what I want, but can't, say.

"I don't know," my monotonic inflection doesn't feel like my own.

I wait for a snide remark but he doesn't deliver. His attention directs back down to his whittling. I watch his hands as they move, I trail up his arms, his shoulders, his neck, those lips... _those lips_...

"God," I gasp before I can catch myself, "you're perfect."

The lump in my throat swells to the point where I can't speak, though I don't know what I would say if I could. He stops moving. His eyes shift upward. He's looking at me. I can't breathe. My face flushes and my blood runs cold. He starts maneuvering his blade again, but keeps his eyes on mine. He skims a sliver off. Then another.  
>Then another.<br>And another.

But then he drops his knife and project, stands up and grabs me by the arm. He lifts me completely off the log I've been sitting on and pulls me with him as he walks. I want to protest or at least ask what he is doing but my mouth won't open. A noise vibrates in my throat - something like a moan - when I hear the sound of his unzipping tent. As soon as I try to look elsewhere, he pushes me to the ground, undoing his pants and staring down at me.

"Why?" is all I can say, not able to finish the end of my question. Just being in his tent under such circumstances is making me swell quicker than I ever have before.

"Shut up." _I obey_. "Take off your clothes."

My hands could not have been hastier as I pulled at my restricting fabric. It takes forever and the bareness of the tent floor underneath me chills my naked back. I look up at him, waiting to be told what to do or for him to do something.

For a moment I almost see some type of insecurity clouding his eyes, his body motionless as he gropes his own thighs. Maybe I'm uncovering him in more ways than one.

"You're perfect," I repeat to try to console him and it doesn't sound as awkward as it did the first time. It sends something into him and he slips his hand underneath his layers, rubbing his bulge and I immediately reach for his belt loops. He shies away though, gripping my wrist with a breaking force. My eyebrows knit together in pain and he lets go slowly, hovering over me and forcing my legs to spread. At some point his member had parted from his jeans which were now resting below his thighs. I want to see him bare but he won't let me.

His palm finds his way to his mouth and he wets it with his tongue, transferring it down to his hardening length. I have to keep my heavy lids from widening as he pushes it into me. In response to my loud groan he clamps a hand over my mouth. "Shut up," he repeats against my ear, punishing me by remaining motionless for the longest few moments I have ever endured. I nod as best I can to try to shake him away and he lets go, using his arms to support his weight as he rocks his hips back and forth. His sudden, powerful thrusting sends me reeling. His downward motions leave me feeling empty, his upward ones filling me to the point where my back arches every time. I don't know what to do with my hands at first, mostly out of fear of how he will react, but they find their way to the bottom of his dirty, sleeveless shirt and he lets them rest there. I go even further and slip my hands underneath to touch his bare hips. Still, he allows it.

He won't moan - I never expected him to - but his heavy breathing against my ear alone, plus his facial stubble scraping against my much-smoother cheek, is still enough to send me over the edge. My legs had wrapped around him, my ankles digging into each other, and my hands were all the way up to his rib cage. I could feel every mark and raised scar etched into his flesh but found nothing but perfection. Somehow it fueled my arousal even more - Daryl Dixon was letting me _touch_ him, my hands were up Daryl Dixon's _shirt_, Daryl Dixon was _inside me_ for Christ's sake - and he finally brings me there.

"_God_," I whimper under my breath, raising my voice a little to say his name as my eyes flutter closed, "_Daryl_."

Through this, and the orgasm that has me bucking wildly and gushing all over my own stomach, I feel him come and his body increasing the obvious pleasure-filled movements as he trembles. His breaths only deepen, his chest only heaves - no moans escape those beautiful lips, but the disappointment I have is canceled out with the pleasure pulsing throughout my body.

My nails digging slightly in his flesh after we're both mostly finished reminds him of his insecurities and he quickly brings his shirt down, soon attempting to pull his twitching cock from me. "Wait," I protest and to my surprise he listens, looming over me and staring directly into my eyes. I swallow hard and forget how to speak - an odd change from being so vocal only moments before - and in response only part my lips. He still waits. "Don't," is all I end up saying with furrowed brows and a paler-than-normal complexion. He looks to the side as if contemplating heeding my request (after all, _he's_ the one who makes the demands) and I place my hand against the side of his face. But it's the wrong move and he leaves me empty, lying down a foot beside me with his back turned and his blanket covering all the way up to his shoulders. I lie there for a moment, unsure of what to do and frankly disappointed that he wasn't still on me.

I start collecting my clothes and come to the realization that maybe it's not that Daryl doesn't _want_ to show affection, he just doesn't know _how_ to. After all, his brother Merle (I, along with the rest of the group, could not be more thankful to have him gone) wasn't really the brotherly type and from what I could piece together, Daryl had grown up in quite a broken home.

"Hey," I whisper while pulling my shirt on, and his head turns slightly as if he's willing to listen but not to direct his visible attention to me. His hair is messier than normal and his eyes are closed. Even from my limited perspective I see an _angel_. My train of thought leaves me (though I'm unsure as to whether or not I even had one) and I slide over to him, my body still shaking from climaxing only moments ago. I can barely even hold myself up as I support my weight on my arm next to him. I clear my throat, my voice feeling small, and very slowly and gently put my hand on his arm over the cover of the fabric. He shakes it off.

"Get outta my damn tent," he speaks in an oddly gentle tone, and for a _moment_ I think there's a bit of humor in the mix with all that angst.

* * *

><p>"Hey! Glenn!" I hear Rick call on my way to the house, no particular future action in mind. I had parted from Daryl's tent a day ago and he hasn't left my mind since. I went from<em> thinking<em> about being with him to actually _doing_ it (well, _him_). Even just _once_ made all those thoughts worth it. It's surreal. I raise my eyebrows in waiting for whatever the sturdy, weathered sheriff is going to say, stopping when we're a few feet from each other. "Gotta list of things we need you to get in the city. You mind?"

"Not at all." Hell, it was my _job_. He hands the list to me and I begin backing away, stopping momentarily in my tracks when I hear, "I don't want you going alone. Take Daryl with you."


	2. Heavy Breaths

"Daryl," I call with an unsteady voice, lingering outside his tent. I'm too afraid to go in. If I didn't respect Rick so much, I wouldn't bother with him... as much as I love the idea of having a survivalist Daryl in my presence. I call his name again, and again, and _again _- I even start shaking his tent a little - but he doesn't answer.

I reach for the metal zipper but stop when I hear, "The hell you goin' through my shit for, Chinaman?"

My heart races too fast for me to bother correcting his terminology. My body whips around and I lose my balance, falling on my ass and looking up at him. His crossbow rests on his shoulder, his shirt is different than yesterday - cleaner but more stained - and he looks at me with a straight face. I think for a second that maybe he'll laugh at my misfortune but his lips stay in place.

"N-... I-.. I was just.. um.. loo-_looking_ for you..," I scramble over my words and he doesn't move a muscle. I wait for him to say something in return. _Silence_. "Uh, Rick, uh... wants me to, uh... I mean... You and I... uh..."

"Spit it out, boy." A wave of heat erupts from my ears and swims all the way to my toes. God, _that voice_.

"We have to go into the city," I speak quickly, suddenly noticing how quick I am to obey him.

"'We'?"

"I have to get... uh.. get stuff, in the city, that they don't, uh, have in town. Rick wants you to... I mean, I need.. you.. to go with me..." my volume lowers with each passing word. There's silence again and before he speaks, I'm seconds from turning away.

"Guess I ain't got shit else to do... but I ain't no errand boy. I'm just goin' so you don't get yourself killed," he says and I push back a surprised expression.

_Justify it any way you want, Daryl_. If only I had enough guts to say that aloud. But I don't, and I never will. I only nod.

* * *

><p>Driving a car and attempting to hide an erection is incredibly difficult. Something about being so close to him in such a small space, inhaling his scent, listening to his heavy breaths, thinking about what we did a day ago and how we completely disregard it as if it never happened... I can barely handle it. Daryl's window is cracked and the chilled wind increases my anxiety. I try to squirm as much as I can without being noticed but I <em>know<em> he knows. From the corner of my eye I can see him looking at me (am I imagining it?) with that same emotionless face he had at his tent. My throat runs dry but I'm afraid to make any noise so attempting to sooth it is out of the question.

"You're swervin'," he says harshly. The pressure of my tight jeans is to blame.

* * *

><p>"Hurry the fuck up," I hear in a loud whisper. I can feel the heat of his body emanating from his skin. My back is to him and I fumble with everything in my hands. I have no concentration. He's so sweaty and worked up from taking out the walkers on the way over and my arousal hadn't subsided since we entered the city a couple hours ago.<p>

"Okay, okay," I gasp. We make it back to the car and he's shifting on his feet as he walks, looking everywhere at once with his crossbow drawn and ready to fire. I put everything in the truck and almost fall over with the difference in weight (and all the blood rushing to my apparent hard-on), which earns a scoff from the man on guard.

"Fuckin' Asians." I've learned to ignore those comments, not that they bother me much anyway. I turn to him after silently shutting the trunk and he glares my way. There's no exchange of words as we stare at each other, our eye contact not breaking for even a second. Mostly because I'm too afraid to move. I can feel my heart beating through my ears. "Get in the back," he orders.

* * *

><p>We get as far as Daryl being fully clothed while I'm the opposite. <em>Again<em>.

I pull at the neck of his shirt and he looks at me with a face that makes me stop. His intimidating demeanor is no match for me, no matter the amount of toughness I may muster. I look so needy of him. I can't see myself but I know I do.

"Please," I beg.

His eyes move to my lips and I feel his muscles relax. _My God... was he listening to me_?

Slowly - _very_ slowly - I run my hands over his shoulders and down his chest. It's an odd change of pace from the feverish, _rough_stripping of my clothes we'd both took part in only moments ago, but I don't mind. My head is spinning too fast for me to think straight. I pull his shirt up to his neck, dreading this very movement. I thought he would change his mind when he'd have to actually _remove_ it, but he just lifts his arms and assists with pulling it over. I keep my eyes on his face in fear that he might wall himself off again if they drift elsewhere.

"Bend over," his command is coarse. I do as I'm told, bending over and raising my ass to him. Our space is limited in the four-door car but we'll make do. We _have_ to.

He does something I don't expect, leaning down and pressing his wet lips to my taut skin. A shuttering gasp is all I offer in response, but he accepts it and continues with batting his tongue against my entrance, which is admittedly still sore from yesterday's endeavor. It's almost like he can tell and knows the massage he's performing with his mouth's muscle helps loosen me - and it does.

Soon (but not soon enough) he's inside me again, both of us rocking back and forth to meet each other's thrusts. There's so much heat and friction, I can even feel his sweat every time he pushes his body into mine. I've subconsciously been having doubts as to why he's doing this; maybe because I'm all he can get in a post-apocalyptic world, but I don't think I care enough (my body certainly doesn't - already having come twice and near my third) to do or say anything about it. Between my random glances at the man behind me and down at what he's doing, my eyes shift outside... to the large group of walkers heading toward the shaking car.

"Daryl," I gasp breathlessly in a half-orgasmic, half-terrified tone as I look back at him. He's one step ahead of me and scrambles to the driver's seat, twisting in ways that should cause him pain, finally reaching his destination and peeling out of the area. He sits shirtless, hands ten and two on the steering wheel, his erection exposed. My mind is racing faster than the car.

"Fuckin' cockblockers," Daryl eventually slows, the crowd of walkers long behind us. Neither of us had spoken the entire ride but were simultaneously still aroused.

"Wanna, uh, finish?" I ask quietly, thinking that maybe if he doesn't want to, it won't be loud enough for him to hear.

"Yeah," he takes in a long breath after a moment. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>My slight limping from Daryl's rough (<em>so good<em>) actions after speeding away from danger go unnoticed back at the farm. I deliver everything to Lori while he withdraws back to his own part of the property. It's still difficult for me to wrap my head around the situation we're in but regardless he has me wondering if it would happen again. I'm not a religious guy but I _pray_ it happens again.


End file.
